


Vain Desire, Vain Regret

by Brooklyn Bentleigh (randym)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randym/pseuds/Brooklyn%20Bentleigh
Summary: This is a sequel to Bren Antrim's "Krycek." She kindly gave me permission, but it's not official or anything -- consider it an AU of an AU. (And no, no necrophila warnings necessary -- though maybe next time... :-)





	Vain Desire, Vain Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Another one written over 20 years ago. Once again, this was a response/sequel of sorts to someone else's story. I swear, I did write normal stuff sometimes. Not this time, but I did, I swear...

Strong arms held Mulder, and deep, silken kisses burned his mouth. He'd never felt such passion, such tenderness, in all his life. He thrust into his lover's body, fire racing through his veins -- then the scene abruptly shifted. He was standing across the room, shaking with fury, not desire. He raised his gun, ignoring the fear and pleading in those wide eyes, and squeezed the trigger...

Mulder woke with a gasp. He was on the couch in his living room. His face was wet with tears, and he was hard and aching. It was the same dream he had almost every night. He knew from experience that he would be unable to sleep any more tonight, and sat up, pouring himself a drink from the bottle on the coffee table.

He realized he was drinking too much. “Never drink alone,” the rule went. Well, he’d never been very good at following rules. He poured himself another and leaned back on his lonely couch, remote control in his hand. He used to go to the bar on the corner when he wanted a drink after work, but that soon became too expensive. So he bought his poison at the liquor store now, and drank it in his apartment.

To this day Mulder didn’t understand why he had been so stupid. Oh, Krycek deserved to die, he was still convinced of that. But the price wasn’t worth it. Why, oh why had Mulder called Scully to help him dispose of the body? And why had she helped him? He hadn't been in his right mind, and there had been extenuating circumstances; if he turned himself in, with the right lawyers he might not even have had to do any prison time. He’d never asked her why she hadn’t suggested that to him...but he knew. His career would have been over. FBI agents weren’t allowed to commit cold-blooded murder, no matter the circumstances. And his career was everything to him. Or had been.

It was eating away at her, Mulder could tell. Their relationship had become so difficult they could no longer work together. Recently Scully had been transferred out of the field into the lab, at her own request -- and Mulder hadn’t even protested. It was such a relief not to have to meet that pain-filled blue gaze every morning. He knew Scully had joined a local Catholic church, and was spending a lot of time there. It was only a matter of time before she confessed their dark secret to her priest. Telling the authorities was the next step from there. Mulder downed another long swallow of scotch. He didn’t mind so much for himself. But it would mean the end of Scully’s career, too. She’d be booted out of the Bureau, and her medical license would be revoked. And it was all Mulder’s fault...

A slight noise from the back of his apartment interrupted his ruminations. It sounded like it came from the bedroom. Mulder searched for his gun, finding it under the suit jacket thrown on a chair. He flicked off the safety and edged silently toward the bedroom. The door was shut. He'd never slept there much, and now he did his best to avoid the room altogether. He couldn't look at it without remembering that pale, naked body sprawled in his bed, the vivid pain of betrayal, the sharp scents of blood and tears and sex...

Mulder hesitated outside the bedroom door, straining to hear any further noises. There were none. He started to reach for the doorknob -- and door flew abruptly open. Mulder jerked his gun up, ready to fire...then his blood ran cold. 

He recognized the huge, fair man standing in the doorway. It was the shape-shifting alien he’d met twice before. Mulder lowered his gun. Firearms were useless against this enemy. He backed away, thinking about trying to run...but what was the point? He couldn't run forever. And, so far as Mulder knew, this assassin never failed. Mulder put the gun down on the coffee table, and waited.

The bounty hunter stared at him for a long moment. "Well?" Mulder said. "Did you come here to kill me?"

The man came closer, seemed to be studying Mulder in the dim light. Then the alien flesh melted, re-formed, and suddenly Mulder was looking at Samantha. Eight years old, as she looked when he saw her last. “Why didn’t you save me, Fox?” she asked in her high, little-girl’s voice. It shifted again, and a pretty, flame-haired young woman looked accusingly at him. "I died because of you, Fox Mulder," Melissa Scully said. "I forgive you for that, but I'll never forgive what you've done to Dana." Then she melted away, and his father faced him. He didn’t say anything, just looked at him with infinitely sad eyes. A dizzying myriad of people, instantly recognized or only vaguely familiar, flashed before him. Finally, one emerged and stayed. One that shocked Mulder, like a punch to the gut, and yet didn't really surprise him at all. "Krycek," he whispered.

The face that haunted his dreams -- his nightmares -- looked back at him. Dark hair falling in front of wide green eyes, lush mouth curved in an insouciant smile, a face heartbreakingly lovely, heartbreakingly wicked. "Hi, Mulder." It was Krycek's voice, low and hoarse and indecently intimate.

A surge of emotion bubbled up hotly through Mulder's very core. He grabbed Krycek and shoved him up against the wall, hard. It didn't matter that it wasn't really Krycek and Mulder couldn't really hurt him. He pummeled Krycek with all his strength, swearing in between gasping sobs. Then he took the delicately perfect face in his hands and crushed his lips to Krycek's. The sweet, responsive mouth tasted just as Mulder had remembered. A part of him wondered if the alien was tapping directly into Mulder's brain, the details were all so right, but mostly he just reveled in the long, deep kiss. 

Finally, Mulder pulled away. "Damn you, Krycek. You ruined my life."

Krycek wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "I ruined your life? You're the one who killed me, Mulder." He sounded more annoyed than angry. 

"You deserved it, you bastard. You kidnapped Scully! You killed my father!" 

=You made me love you.=

And there it was. Some part of Mulder had known it for awhile; face to face with Krycek, he couldn't deny it any more. Mulder had been betrayed before, had dealt daily with liars and spies and killers as part of his job. So why had Krycek's betrayal been so shattering? Even now anger swept through him like an inferno as he remembered. But was it only anger? 

"I was just doing my job, Mulder. It was just business. Nothing personal. I did what I was told. Otherwise, they'd have killed me and someone else would have done it for them."

"That's no excuse!" 

"No, it isn't," Krycek admitted. "What's your excuse for killing me in cold blood?"

Mulder whimpered, then threw his arms around Krycek. "I wish I hadn't," he whispered. He pressed his face into Krycek's neck, hot tears squeezing from his closed eyes. "I'd give anything I have to do it over. I should have arrested you instead..."

Krycek took him by the shoulders and moved him away. "That would have been as good as shooting me." He shrugged. "I brought it on myself. Stupid of me. You did what you had to do. At least it was quick, and I had some fun before it happened." And smiled, a sweet, genuine smile that made Mulder's heart stop. 

And suddenly Mulder was kissing him again, lost in a red haze of lust and confusion. Krycek permitted it briefly, then pushed him back, with gentle but inexorable strength. Inhuman strength. But he looked perfectly human, gazing at Mulder with that uncertain expression on his face that Mulder had seen Krycek wear so many times before. The suit and tie reminded him of the way Krycek had dressed when they first met, though these, sized for the bounty hunter, were too big for Krycek, and made him look even younger than he'd looked back then. Mulder could hardly bear to look at him, couldn't turn away.

Mulder was a trained psychologist. He should have known the surge of heady violence Krycek evoked in him for what it was. But it was that old cliché -- you never recognize the situation if you're the one in the middle of it. Perhaps, if things had been different, Krycek would have been just another of the many loves that had blown lightly through Mulder's life. But now Alex Krycek had the incomparable, magical appeal of the unattainable. A love Mulder had lost and could never have again. Or...could he? He reached out to touch the dark hair tumbled loose about Krycek's face. =Like black silk...=

"Please," Mulder found himself saying. "Just let me...just give me this, and then you can kill me. I won't fight." 

"Was I =that= good, Mulder?" 

Mulder shut him up with another kiss, and this time he wasn't pushed away. Of course this wasn't really Krycek. Mulder knew this, but he didn't care. It was as close as he was going to get in this life. Which wasn't likely to last much longer. It didn't matter. There was a bizarre sort of justice about this. And Krycek was right, if this was the end, it was a good way to go. He only hoped that afterwards, he would receive the same mercy he'd given Krycek, and it would be quick.

He pulled Krycek with him toward the couch. They shed their clothes as they went; by the time they reached it, they were both naked. Mulder pushed the other man onto the couch and fell on top of him, kissing him thoroughly -- on the forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips. Bending his head, he began licking Krycek's throat and down his shoulder. Krycek gasped, hands caressing Mulder's hair and smoothing over his back. Mulder slid down the hairless chest and stomach, the touch of his stubbly cheeks alternating with soft kisses, making Krycek squirm. 

Kneeling on the floor, Mulder stroked Krycek's sleek, sinewy thighs. Moving up, he turned his attention to the rigid, straining penis. It was hard against Krycek's abdomen, glistening with pre-ejaculate. Softly, Mulder used his tongue to caress it, eliciting a moan of appreciation. Hungrily, he took it into his mouth, sucking and licking. Krycek gasped, arching toward the delicious stimulation. Mulder brought him agonizingly close to climax, then drew back. Krycek grimaced in frustration, and his hand moved involuntarily towards his groin. Mulder grabbed both of Krycek's wrists, frustrating him further. He had other plans. 

Climbing onto the couch, he knelt, straddling Krycek's body. He took hold of Krycek's cock and guided it in. No, this wasn't safe sex. In the back of his mind, Mulder realized that this was an alien carrying a retrovirus far more deadly than AIDS. He was kissing someone whose blood could kill. But he couldn't stop now, not for anything inthe world. And whether the alien assassin was humoring him or had simply gotten carried away by the charade, the illusion was perfect. Every reaction, the taste, smell, feel...it was Krycek. Mulder embraced him fiercely. Krycek's hips moved in small, involuntary thrusts, his hands stroking Mulder's erection, fingers tickling Mulder's testicles. Mulder bucked frantically, and before long, Krycek shuddered and groaned, climaxing violently. Mulder followed immediately. He held Krycek tightly, hot semen jetting between their bodies. 

Breathing heavily, Krycek collapsed sideways onto the couch, dragging Mulder with him. They lay there, entangled in sweaty satisfaction. Krycek's finger gently traced Mulder's lips. Then he slid away and stood up. Mulder had a few seconds to feast his eyes on his naked glory before he was gone, and the huge blond bounty hunter was back. 

It had been worth it, Mulder thought. If his blood curdled in his veins this moment, it had been worth it.

"The experience won't harm you," the alien said, gathering his scattered clothes and putting them on. "Even my blood wouldn't hurt you now. You have immunity, from your previous exposure." He paused. "Good-by, Mulder," he said, and turned toward the door. 

"Aren't you going to kill me?" Mulder asked.

"No," the alien said. "You are no longer in any position to interfere with us. Besides, I don't need to kill you. You're doing it yourself." 

Mulder stared as the creature left, then sank down on the couch. His gaze dropped to the coffee table. There were two items on it: his gun, and a bottle of scotch. The alien was right, he was killing himself. He just wondered if he'd have the courage to choose the faster method.


End file.
